itch of his ringing and
resonant voice.

A deadly fear of him shook me. I did my best to hide the outward
betrayal of it. By look and word, I showed him, as firmly as I could,
that I resented the liberty he had taken with me.

"Remove your hands, sir," I said, "and retire to your proper place."

He obeyed me mechanically. He apologized to me mechanically. His whole
mind was evidently still filled with the words that I had spoken to him,
and still bent on discovering what those words meant.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I humbly beg your pardon. The subject
excites me, frightens me, maddens me. You don't know what a difficulty
I have in controlling myself. Never mind. Don't take me seriously. Don't
be frightened at me. I am so ashamed of myself--I feel so small and so
miserable at having offended you. Make me suffer for it. Take a stick
and beat me. Tie me down in my chair. Call up Ariel, who is as strong
as a horse, and tell her to hold me. Dear Mrs. Valeria! Injured Mrs.
Valeria! I'll endure anything in the way of punishment, if you will
only tell me what you mean by not submitting to the Scotch Verdict." He
backed his chair penitently as he made that entreaty. "Am I far enough
away yet?" he asked, with a rueful look. "Do I still frighten you? I'll
drop out of sight, if you prefer it, in the bottom of the chair."

He lifted the sea-green coverlet. In another moment he would have
disappeared like a puppet in a show if I had not stopped him.

"Say nothing more, and do nothing more; I accept your apologies," I
said. "When I tell you that I refuse to submit to the opinion of the
Scotch Jury, I mean exactly what my words express. That verdict has
left a stain on my husband's character. He feels the stain bitterly. How
bitterly no one knows so well as I do. His sense of his degradation is
the sense that has parted him from me. It is not enough for _him_ that
I am persuaded of his innocence. Nothing will bring him back to
me--nothing will persuade Eustace that I think him worthy to be the
guide and companion of my life--but the proof of his innocence, set
before the Jury which doubts it, and the public which doubts it, to this
day. He and his friends and his lawyers all despair of ever finding that
proof now. But I am his wife; and none of you love him as I love him.
I alone refuse to despair; I alone refuse to listen to reason. If
God spare me, Mr. Dexter, I dedicate my life to the vindication of my
husband's innocen